We left the room in silence, and Hinman signed to the undertaker that the service was ended.

“I am going with the body to the crematory,” he said, and presently drove away with the undertaker, ahead of the hearse.  Godfrey and I stood gazing after it until it passed from sight, then, in silence, we walked down the drive to the entrance.  The gardener was standing there, and regarded us with eyes which seemed to me distinctly unfriendly.  He made no sign of recognition, and, the moment we were outside, he closed the gates and locked them carefully, as though obeying precise instructions.

“So,” said Godfrey, in a low tone, as we went on together, “the lock has been repaired.  I wonder who ordered that done?”

“Miss Vaughan, no doubt,” I answered.  “She wouldn’t want those gates gaping open.”

“Perhaps not,” Godfrey assented; “but would she want the barrier intact?  Remember, Lester, it’s as much a barrier from one side as from the other.”

“Well, she won’t be inside it much longer,” I assured him.  “I’m going to get her out this afternoon.”

The words were uttered with a confidence I was far from feeling, and I rather expected Godfrey to challenge it, but he walked on without replying, his head bent in thought, and did not again speak of Miss Vaughan or her affairs.

He drove into the city shortly after lunch, and it was about the middle of the afternoon when I presented myself again at the gates of Elmhurst and rang the bell.  I waited five minutes and rang again.  Finally the gardener came shuffling down the drive and asked me what I wanted.  I told him I had an appointment with his mistress; but, instead of admitting me, he took my card and shuffled away with it.

I confess that I grew angry, as I stood there kicking my heels at the roadside, for he was gone a long time, and all these precautions and delays were incomprehensible to me.  But he came back at last, unlocked the gate without a word, and motioned me to enter.  Then he locked it again, and led the way up the drive to the house.  The housemaid met us at the door of the library, as though she had been stationed there.

“If you will wait here, sir,” she said, “Miss Vaughan will see you.”

“I hope she is well,” I ventured, thinking the girl might furnish me with some clue to all this mystery, but she was already at the door.

“Quite well, sir,” she said, and the next instant had disappeared.

Another ten minutes elapsed, and then, just as I was thinking seriously of putting on my hat and leaving the house, I heard a step coming down the stair.  A moment later Miss Vaughan stood on the threshold.

I had taken it for granted that, relieved of her father’s presence, she would return to the clothing of every day; but she still wore the flowing white semi-Grecian garb in which I had first seen her.  I could not but admit that it added grace and beauty to her figure, as well as a certain impressiveness impossible to petticoats; and yet I felt a sense of disappointment.  For her retention of the costume could only mean that her father’s influence was still dominant.